Parabola


i'm sorry,
did you write that?
because i have heard it before the way
i have heard my heartbeat: it gushes blood
for centuries. it never stops; the motion
is always sustained by a desire to live, or
in the unaffected pulsing,
the earth's inability to do anything but turn:
the way you wanted to. you did it
seasoned as a pro. slickly, the lines slip
from your fingers.
thinly, i
and my breath from my mouth in a
forlorn kiss, seep
and splatter against the freezing air
in a cloud of relief.